tially recovered from dangerous illness, knowing too well that their recent misfortunes had greatly abridged her means of support, she sat one morning thinking she must endeavor to pursue some course which would have a tendency to divert her thoughts from her own feelings, when her babe was brought home to her, in consequence of the sudden and alarming sickness of the woman who had nursed him for several months.

This was an unexpected trial to the mother. She knew not what to do with him, as he had thus far been nursed by this person, and was unaccustomed to taking his food from a spoon. She tried immediately to procure another nurse, but was unable to hear of any living near her. She was told of a woman who would probably be glad to take the little creature, if he was carried to her.

This person resided in the place where Mrs. Savage had spent the greater part of her life; she was acquainted with her, and felt that her darling child would be better provided for, if entrusted to the care of this individual, than if he remained with her; yet there were obstacles in the way of getting the babe to her; the weather was cold, for it was December, and Mrs. Savage could not endure the idea of having him carried by any one with whom the child was unacquainted, as he was at an age, and of a disposition to be afraid of strangers. To go herself, appeared an arduous undertaking; still she determined to do so, and see her sweet babe placed in the arms of one to whom she could safely entrust him.

She travelled in a carriage, and was obliged to spend one night upon the road, at a public house, on account of her weakness, and the fatigue she endured in holding the

timid little one in her lap most of the way. A kind friend accompanied her upon this journey, and another engaged to take charge of the lonely little flock at home during her absence.

Mrs. Savage reached the place of her destination in safety, at an early hour on the second day after leaving her home. Seeing many faces which she had not beheld since the death of her husband, revived many painful recollections; still she received much consolation from those who wept with her over the sad blight of her brightest earthly hopes.

It was a source of pleasure to see her babe very soon become familiar with the lady, who cheerfully received and enfolded him in the arms of her affection, having recently lost a sweet little one herself.

As soon as Mrs. Savage had recovered from the fatigue of her journey to Brookfield, she returned to her children. With an aching heart she parted from her dear infant; yet could she but have had even a faint presentiment of what in after life she was to suffer on account of this very child, she would have scarcely deemed it a cross, in comparison, to leave him, under existing circumstances.

Mrs. Savage, on returning to her home, endeavored to wear an air of cheerfulness, although it was often foreign to her heart, that her children might be spared those pangs which she was aware would be inflicted upon their sympathizing feelings, if she indulged in sorrow. She was enabled to educate her children, and introduce them to society such as she had been wont to mingle in, by dint of great personal exertion, to which was added a

wise forecast of thought upon the subject of domestic prudence.

Not many months after the death of her husband, Mrs. Savage opened a respectable boarding-house, the avails of which, notwithstanding the increase of her expenses, by the increasing age of her children, afforded her more than a genteel support.

Years passed on, and there was little change in the prospects of this lady. Her older children were placed at a boarding-school, of the first character; her younger ones at schools, near home, while Simon, the youngest, at the earnest solicitation of the lady who assumed the care of him in infancy, was allowed to remain with her. Mrs. Savage often visited the child, and oftener was informed by letter of his welfare.

It would be natural to suppose that, situated in the favorable circumstances in which this widowed mother then was, she might have passed her days in contentment and comparative peace, yet such was by no means the fact. She had yet to wade through still deeper waters than had ever before flowed over her pathway of life.

We sometimes wonder at the short-sightedness of those whose judgment we have heretofore regarded as excellent, and thus are forcibly reminded, that To err is human.' It was a source of the greatest astonishment to the friends of Mrs. Savage, after she had quietly spent several years in widowhood, and had managed her affairs with so much discretion, to hear that she intended to change her situation, by entering again into wedlock.

The gentleman whom she expected to marry was better known to some of the acquaintance of Mrs. Savage than

to herself. He possessed, it is true, an amiable disposition, to which was added a mind highly cultivated, while his manners were refined and peculiarly fascinating; yet it was known to some that he had one fault, and one that eclipsed all his virtues, and that was, a proneness to indulge occasionally in the use of ardent spirits.

He was by no means an habitual drunkard; but he had more than once been seen when under the influence of liquor, by those who knew that he was anxious to become connected with Mrs. Savage. Her respected friend, the physician who had attended her during the seasons of trial through which she had passed, and who felt deeply interested in the welfare of her family, warned her of the dangerous position in which she stood. She listened to him with a feeling of veneration, and appreciated his motives. She mentioned what had been related to her, to Mr. Johnson, at their next interview.

He appeared greatly hurt that such unjust suspicions, as he termed them, should be cherished by one from whom he expected better things; and assured her that he had been misjudged by her friends, offering to refer her to those in the community to whom his character was well known, and upon whose veracity she might depend.

As the feelings of this unfortunate lady were strongly enlisted in favor of the gentleman, it was not strange that her judgment should be warped, and she led to credit all he said. She was united to him in marriage; and, judging by her first happy connection, anticipated again enjoying the same confidence and sympathy which she had been favored with in early life. But bitter was her disappoint

ment, and vain the regrets she afterwards felt, when convinced of the unfortunate mistake she had made.

Not more than six months had passed away after she became the wife of Mr. Johnson, ere she was obliged to endure the mortification of seeing him come home in a state of intoxication. At first she could hardly credit the evidence of her senses; and, when forced to do so, felt irritated and provoked. She gave utterance to her indignation in severe reproaches, without stopping to reflect that the effect of doing so might be extremely injurious not only to her own future peace of mind, but to the wellbeing of him whom she was in duty bound to endeavor to reclaim, by kindness and affection.

Mrs. Johnson had never, as we have before hinted, been accustomed to bear patiently anything that did violence to her natural feelings. Her first companion had been one of the most indulgent of husbands, and she was illy prepared to endure the severe test to which her regard for him to whom she was now united, had been subjected.

She had naturally a great aversion to those who had been so weak as to be overtaken by the sin of steeping their senses in alcoholic drink; and now, to be forced to admit the unwelcome truth that her husband was a drunkard, was more than she could endure. Her proud heart rebelled, while it throbbed with keenest anguish, at the thought of what she had brought upon herself, by acting contrary to the advice of her friends.

Mr. Johnson had never, until the day on which his easily besetting sin was first exposed to his hitherto confiding wife, any opportunity of seeing the effect which